"Sunscreen & Beach Time Fun" with Olivia Holt

[TheLW]

Sunscreen & Beach Time Fun
With Olivia Holt
Written by TheLW
Codes: MF, Exhibitionism, Fingering
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.


I worked in New York City for a big tech company. The work was great, fast-paced, demanding, but rewarding in the kind of way that makes your nights feel earned. I had a solid routine, morning coffee from the cart guy on 53rd, a packed subway ride downtown, and twelve-hour days filled with code, meetings, deadlines, and the thrill of building something that actually worked.

So when they asked me to fly out to Los Angeles, the City of Angels, to help set up a new West Coast branch, I didn’t hesitate. I said yes before they could finish the pitch. The truth is, I’d always wanted to go to LA. The palm trees, the sunshine, the illusion that everything is just a little bit easier out there. And the fact that it was a work trip? That sealed it. All expenses paid, company dime. If you asked me, that was a win/win situation.

I told myself it’d be temporary. Just four weeks. Help get the office running, smooth out the infrastructure, train a few new hires, and then fly back home. But deep down, something in me hoped it would stretch a little longer. Maybe even turn into something more. Not just professionally, but personally. I've been feeling... stuck, lately. New York had a way of chewing you up even when you loved it.

I thought maybe LA would be different.

After working for a week straight, I decided to take a day off. I even managed to sleep past 5:30, which for me was practically a miracle. No Slack notifications, no emails flagged as urgent, just sunlight slipping through the apartment blinds and the hum of LA traffic somewhere far below.

By 10:00, I was behind the wheel of my rental, heading west toward the coast. Malibu Beach Pier, according to my GPS, was just under an hour away. It felt good to drive with the windows down, letting the breeze mess up my hair, watching the city gradually give way to cliffs and sea. The skyline melted into wide-open blue, and for the first time in days, the pressure in my chest started to lift.

When I got there, the pier was already busy, families, joggers, people taking selfies under the sun-bleached signs. I didn’t mind. I grabbed a coffee from a shack near the parking lot and walked out over the water, listening to the wood creak under my feet with each step.

I wasn’t trying to have some grand revelation or anything. I just wanted to feel something real again. Something that wasn’t filtered through a screen or tied to a deadline.

That’s when I saw her.

Olivia Holt.

I wasn’t expecting to recognize anyone, let alone her. She looked like something straight off a postcard, sun-kissed, blonde, and radiant in a way that made the rest of the beach blur around her. She wore a bright orange two-piece bikini that somehow managed to be both effortless and impossibly striking. But what really got me, what made me smile, despite myself, was the Yankees cap pulled low over her eyes.

As a New Yorker, that hit me right in the soft spot.

She was stretched out near the waterline on a reclining beach chair, one leg bent, sipping from a coconut like she didn’t have a single worry in the world. Maybe she didn’t. She looked relaxed in a way I hadn’t felt in years, like the sun and sea and silence had taught her something the rest of us were still trying to figure out.

I stole a few glances her way. Nothing obvious, at least, I didn’t think it was. She looked too relaxed, too deep in her own world to notice me casually orbiting hers.

Until the last time.

That’s when she caught me staring.

She was still lounging in her chair, coconut in hand, Yankees cap tilted just right beneath the sun. And when her eyes met mine, she didn’t look away. She didn’t roll her eyes or pretend she hadn’t seen. She smiled. The kind of smile that made you feel like maybe the universe had nudged something gently into place.

A few moments passed. I tried to keep my eyes on the waves, like I wasn’t acutely aware of every movement she made just a few feet away.

Then I saw her lean over toward a straw beach bag beside her chair.

It was casual, natural, even, but the motion gave me an unfiltered view of her cleavage as she reached inside. The curve of her body, the way the sunlight caught her skin, it was impossible not to notice. I swallowed hard, suddenly unsure where to look, and telling myself to not be obvious.

She pulled out a bottle of sunscreen lotion, twisted off the cap, and glanced my way again, this time with a flicker of amusement in her eyes.

Then, standing up slowly, she brushed some sand from her thighs and started walking in my direction.

When she stopped at the edge of my towel, her shadow stretched over me. I looked up, heartbeat kicking up a notch, sunglasses sliding just low enough on my nose to see her face clearly.

She was smiling, that same knowing, gorgeous smile, and holding the bottle of suntan lotion like it was some kind of invitation.

“Hey,” she said, voice like warm honey. “Be honest… are you any good with your hands?”

There was a teasing glint in her eyes, just daring me to stumble over a reply.

She gave the bottle a little shake. “I’ve got this whole back with no one to help, and you looked like you could use a little something to do.”

I nodded, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Yeah,” I said, matching her tone. “I’d say I’m pretty good with my hands… but you might have to be the judge of that.”

She bit her lip, just briefly, and turned without another word, walking back toward her chair with an extra sway in her step. And yeah, I noticed. Hard not to. The cut of her orange bikini left just enough to the imagination, and the way her hips moved with each step? Damn near hypnotic.

I stood, brushed the sand off my arms and legs, and followed her.

And for those few seconds, trailing behind her, I could only think one thing.

LA was already better than I expected.

She reached her chair, and glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t be shy,” she said, voice low and playful. “Get in there.”

I let out a short laugh at her line, half amused, half impressed. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

She looked over her shoulder again with a smirk. “Would it work if I did?”

Fair point.

I knelt down behind her, the bottle of lotion cool in my hand. She swept her hair over one shoulder and leaned forward slightly in the beach chair, giving me full access to the golden skin of her back. Up close, I could smell the faint mix of coconut from the lotion and whatever citrusy perfume clung to her skin, sweet and sun-warmed.

I squeezed a line of lotion into my palm, rubbed my hands together, and then placed them on her shoulders. Her skin was soft, warm from the sun. I started slow, spreading the lotion across the tops of her shoulders, letting my thumbs sweep gently across the tension there.

“Mmm,” she hummed, head tilted just slightly to the side. “Not bad…”

“You sound surprised,” I said, working my way down her back, fingers gliding just under the strap of her top before carefully tracing along her shoulder blades.

“Just keeping my expectations realistic,” she teased, voice lighter now, softer.

I kept going, hands moving lower, down the smooth curve of her back, past the tie of her bikini. The way she laid in that chair, just slightly arched, made every motion feel charged, like the air between us was humming. I took my time, letting my fingers trail along the small of her back before circling gently up her sides and back toward her shoulders.

“See?” I said quietly. “Told you I was good with my hands.”

She looked over her shoulder again, lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “You might just be better than good.”

Her skin glistened now, a sheen of lotion catching the sunlight as my hands moved in slow, deliberate circles. I let my thumbs press deeper, finding a spot just beneath her shoulder blades where the muscles felt tight, knotted from sunbathing or maybe just life.

That’s when she let out a soft moan, barely audible, but there.

It was the kind of sound you don’t fake. Natural. Unfiltered. It rolled off her lips before she could catch it, and the moment it hit the air, something shifted between us.

My hands paused for just half a second.

She didn’t look back this time. Instead, she exhaled slowly, leaning forward a little more, inviting the touch. Her body language said it all, she didn’t want me to stop.

I moved lower, slower, my palms sliding down the elegant line of her spine, fingertips brushing just above the curve of her bikini bottoms. The muscles in her back seemed to melt under my touch, and with every shift of her weight, I caught glimpses of the toned curves beneath that orange fabric.

As my hands traced the curve of her waist, I felt a daring surge rise inside me. Nearing the edge of her bikini bottoms, I slipped a hand slowly beneath the fabric, moving cautiously but with growing confidence toward the front.

For a moment, I held my breath, wondering if I’d crossed a line. But she didn’t pull away. Didn’t tense up or protest.

Encouraged, I let my fingers trace lightly along her skin, the heat between us thickening like the summer air.

My fingers moved with care, exploring the warmth of her body as she lay stretched out beneath me. Her breath hitched, just slightly, and then came that sound again, soft, unguarded. Another moan, quiet but full of heat, like the tension we’d both been tiptoeing around had finally caught flame.

She arched her back, just a little more, hips shifting to meet my touch. The way she moved wasn’t just permission, it was encouragement. Her body leaned into mine like she wanted more, like the air between us wasn’t thick enough already.

I leaned closer, my lips brushing the edge of her jaw as my free hand slid gently up her side. Her skin was warm and smooth beneath my fingertips, her pulse quick under the surface.

“You feel incredible,” I whispered, my voice low and rough with want.

She turned her face toward mine, eyes half-lidded and glowing beneath the brim of that Yankees cap. “Then don’t stop,” she said.

With that, I curled my finger slightly, feeling her body respond, her hips rolling gently against my hand. I took my time, letting her get used to the sensation, before I slowly withdrew and then slid back in, this time with a second finger joining the first.

Olivia let out a longer, deeper moan, her body tensing briefly before melting into the sensation. Her hands grabbed the sides of the beach chair as she pressed back against me, eager for more. I obliged, pumping my fingers slowly but steadily, feeling her walls clench around me.

"God," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. I couldn't see her face, but I could imagine her eyes fluttering closed, her lips parted slightly as she lost herself in the pleasure.

I could feel her body responding to every slight movement, every subtle curve of my fingers. She was wet and hot, her breath coming in quick gasps that matched the rhythm of my hand.

I leaned in closer, my body almost pressed against hers, my other hand steadying myself on the back of the chair. I could feel the sun beating down on us. Her hips began to grind against my hand, slow and steady at first, then faster, more urgent. I curled my fingers inside her, hitting a spot that made her cry out.

The tension between us crackled like static, each passing second making it harder to pretend this was anything casual. Her body responded to every touch, every word, like it had been waiting, wanting, for exactly this.

Then she turned her head slightly, eyes locked onto me with that same spark that started this whole thing.

“You know,” she said, voice low and teasing, “as fun as this is out here… we’re drawing a bit of a crowd.”

I glanced around, suddenly aware of the distant chatter, the shifting glances from a few beachgoers, not close, but not far enough either.

When I looked back at her, she was already grinning, that playful smirk curving at the corner of her mouth. “There’s a changing room just over there,” she added, nodding subtly toward a small wooden structure tucked near the edge of the sand. “Private. Shaded. Lock on the door.”

Then she sat up slowly, deliberately, her hand brushing across my chest as she rose to her feet.

“You coming?” she asked, already walking, hips swaying with just enough exaggeration to make it impossible to say no.

I didn’t answer. I just followed.

The noise of the beach faded behind us, just background now, as we approached the changing room. A simple wooden structure, weathered by sun and salt, tucked away near a row of palm trees. Secluded enough to feel like our own little world.

She glanced back at me just before pushing the door open, her smile still playing at her lips, all confidence. With one hand, she pulled me inside, then shut the door behind us with a click, the sound of the lock sliding into place echoing louder than it should have.

The air inside was cooler, the light dimmed, filtered through the slats in the wooden walls.

She turned to face me, her back resting against the closed door. For a heartbeat, we just stood there, watching each other, our breathing the only sound between us. The tension had built so naturally, so steadily, it felt like the moment itself was waiting for someone to make the next move.

Then she did.

With a slow, confident motion, she reached behind her neck, fingers untying the top of her bikini. The straps slipped loose, and the fabric fell away from her skin. She let it drop to the floor without breaking eye contact.

There was no hesitation in her eyes, just that same spark of boldness that had drawn me in from the start.

With a smirk that said she knew exactly the effect she was having on me, she let her fingers drift slowly to the waistband of her bikini bottoms. Her movements were unhurried, intentional, as the fabric slipped down her hips and fell to the floor. She stepped out of them gracefully, standing there with a confidence that radiated through the room.

Her eyes never left mine.

Then, in one fluid motion, she took a step forward and gently pushed me back onto the narrow bench. The shift in control was subtle, but electric, I was still reeling from the view, from the nearness of her skin, from the sheer boldness of the moment.

She stood over me, arms crossed loosely, head tilted, lips curled into that wickedly flirtatious smile.

"You've had your look," she said, voice low and full of teasing warmth. "I think it's only fair if I get mine."

My heart pounded. Every glance, every breath felt like part of a dance we were both eager to keep dancing.

Grinning, I reached for the hem of my shirt. “Hope I don’t disappoint.”

She stepped in closer, her fingers gently brushing mine, as if to say, let me.

And just like that, the space between us disappeared again.

She stepped in closer, her fingers brushing lightly against my skin as she lifted my shirt. With one smooth motion, she pulled it up and over my head, letting it fall somewhere beside us. Her eyes roamed, slow and deliberate, taking her time like she was memorizing every inch.

“Not bad, New York,” she said.

Then her hands drifted lower, gliding across my chest and down to the waistband of my shorts. Her fingertips paused there, playful and unhurried, as if savoring the anticipation.

She leaned in, close enough that I could feel the warmth of her breath against my skin. “Let’s not keep all the mystery on one side,” her tone rich with flirtation.

In one smooth motion, she slid my shorts down, her fingers trailing along my thighs as she did. The fabric pooled at my feet, and she took a small step back to admire her work.

She tilted her head slightly, and let out a low, appreciative hum. “Nice and big,” she said, lips curling into a playful smirk. “Just the way I like it.”

“Glad to be your type,” I answered back.

She laughed softly, “You have no idea.”

Seated firmly on the bench, Olivia swung her leg over me, before lowering herself onto my cock. Her hands gripped my shoulders, her eyes locking with mine as she moved in a back and forth motion, on top of me.

My hands found her waist, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of her hips as she bounced, slow and steady at first, then with more urgency. Her breasts heaved with each motion, firm and full, nipples hardened to pink peaks. She was a vision, her head thrown back, blonde hair cascading down her shoulders.

Her rhythm quickens, and soon she's riding me in earnest, her body rising and falling with an urgency that borders on desperate. The changing room fills with the sound of our breathing, harsh and ragged, and the steady creak of the bench beneath us.

Olivia’s thighs tremble slightly with the effort, but she doesn't slow down. Instead, she doubles down, her body crashing onto mine with a force that sends waves of pleasure coursing through me.

"Fuck," I groan.

My hands slide from her waist to her ass, gripping her tightly, meeting her thrusts with my own. Her moans fill the small changing room, echoing off the wooden walls.

Her body tightens around me, her inner muscles clenching and unclenching in a rhythm that matches her hurried breaths.

"I'm close," she whispers, her voice barely audible. I can feel her body trembling, the tension building like a storm ready to break.

Her movements become more frantic, her hips grinding against mine with a force that sends shockwaves of pleasure through me. I can feel the pressure building at the base of my spine, the sensation overwhelming and inevitable.

Olivia's eyes widen, her mouth opens in a silent gasp, and then she's coming undone, seeing her lose control sends me spiraling over the edge. With pure abandon on her face. Her body shudders, her muscles squeezing me tight as waves of pleasure course through her.

She collapses on the bench next to me, taking a moment to catch her breath.

“So,” she said, voice low and teasing, “what happens now?”

I smiled, feeling the weight of those words. “I’ve got three weeks left in town,” I said, my voice steady but honest. “After that, I’m heading back to New York.”

She propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes locking with mine, a slow smile spreading across her lips. “Three weeks, huh?” she teased, a challenge shining in her gaze. “Think you can make the most of it?”

There was no pressure, just invitation.

She gave me a sly smile, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Well, later tonight I’m meeting up with some friends. We’re heading to a house party. You in?”

I hesitated for just a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

She leaned in slightly, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Oh, and my friend Paris, she’s definitely going to want to meet you,” Olivia said with a knowing smile. “She’s got great taste in men… and something tells me you’re right up her alley.”

I raised an eyebrow, amused and intrigued. “Is that a challenge?”

She laughed softly, brushing her fingers lightly across my arm. “Maybe it is. You’ll have to come see for yourself.”

The End